The Last Confession

She sat in the confessional silent as Father Mark made his usual statements of the absolution and such before he asked her what she had on her mind.

"Father, do we lie when we say we live when all we do is exist? And when someone asks and you say I'm dying.. is it a lie because you're already dead inside? What of our souls Father? Is mine such that its' wilted all away?  And what of my heart? Has it stopped beating when it stopped caring? Do we live a lie when are with someone we no longer love and pretend to the world we do? And what if our heart covets another who no longer wishes to be in our lives?"

She heard a sigh come from the other side of the confessional followed by a long pause. She bowed her head and waited for an answer unsure of what the Priest would say. Her thoughts were racing as she hadn’t even planned on coming in and was shocked when she found herself in the dark wooden sanctuary.

“My child,” he said in such a low soothing tone, “ I have a lot of answers, but there are some that I have none to. I’m not equipped to handle matters of the heart, although my purpose is to save those broken hearts. Sometimes I feel like I am such a failure and I wonder if I should continue on. I too have had those same questions. And I have found no answers. To say anything about that it isn’t so simple.”

A tear slid down her cheek as her voice cracked. “Then.. forgive me Father?

“For what my child?” he replied.

“For falling in love with you.” She stood up, opened the door and walked out. The lights were dim in the church and the air heavy with incense from the mass that had been performed just a few hours before.

An untouchable man. Someone above her standards. Someone held in high regard. He was her idol. He was the one she lay down at the feet of every night. She worshipped his naked body as he stripped off his vestments. She loved it when he would disrobe and there would be nothing on underneath.  The nights of passion were innumerable over the years, and she never thought that anything could come between what they had. But something did. It didn’t matter now. He wasn’t the same he wanted her no longer. And she understood.

But, no more. She was at the door and down the steps before she caught her breath. She hailed a taxi as the rain poured down upon her, hiding the tears that were now streaming down her face.

“Forgive me,” she thought. “For I have committed the biggest sin of all. I’ve believed a lie and lied to myself. I believed it when he said that he loved me. And I lied to myself thinking he did.”

She jumped in the cab and motioned to the driver just to drive. Her head against the window, she knew there was no point in looking back, he would not be there.

Bent Over Kneeling

He held her there, not letting her move, as he began to flick his tongue in between her open legs. She could feel herself getting wet, her ass moving up slightly so he could get to her. He opened her up, inserting his finger into her vagina. She came, right into his hand, juice flowing from an eternal spring. He lapped it up like a thirsty cat, drinking every bit of her that spilled.
She went to turn around again, and again, he stopped her. She was at the bottom of the bed, her arms above her head, her still not being able to turn around to see his face.

He still worked his finger in and out, causing her to tighten around it, feeling it like feeling his penis, stroking in and out of her. She rolled her eyes up, moaning, feeling his finger start to stroke her clitoris. She felt his other finger start to stroke her anus.. This scared her a little, until she heard his voice over her sighs, “fiez-vous à moi mon amour, fermez vos yeux et fiez-vous à moi..”she felt her body go, her muscles became more relaxed. Trust him he said, close my eyes and trust him. Her whole body went limp, she willing her muscles to release all the tension she had felt. She could feel his finger, gentle, tiny little strokes on her anus, as his other finger worked magic else where, getting her more and more excited as the seconds passed. She felt a slight pressure there, and felt his finger go in just a little. It was a strange experience for her, both places being massaged at the same time, it felt...wonderful, strange, breathtaking...

She let go again, hearing him moan as well, feeling him this time pushing somewhat harder, moving in and out to her breaths. Her body moved with this, her hands gripping the sheets so tight that they came off the mattress. She began to moan louder, her body moving now, slowly to his fingers. She could feel him, his hardness on her, on her crack, wet with her juices he had rubbed on his hardness. His finger came out of her, and she could feel his cock slide into her, filling her. It hurt at first, scaring her, but he was gentle, just pushing a small amount at a time until she could take it all. His other finger never left her love canal, wet, the bed, his hand, his cock, hard with anticipation of this new fore’ into the dark ways of lovemaking...
She took it, holding her breath, and relaxing, having to, it feeling so weird, but so good. She was so horny that she thought at one point she would come at least a hundred times. It was endless the feelings she was having. She tingled and shook with each orgasm, as his stroke in her became more and more urgent. He held her there, his hand on her ass, drawing her to him, pushing her back, pulling her to him once again.

Her head filled with the grunts of him, even though she couldn’t see him, she could vision him, his head back, his long hair wet with sweat, his body glistening now with it, she could feel his face over her body as he bent over her with each stroke, droplets of his water falling on her back.

She could feel him, starting to tighten, his strokes getting more aggressive...she tried not to panic, but just to enjoy the feelings of this. Once again the tingling started all over, and she thrust backwards hard, wanting him now, to pound harder into her, to feel all of him in the virgin place, wanting him to come deep within her.

His finger came out of her, and both hands were firmly placed on her ass. She could feel his grip, his nails digging into her flesh, scraping down as each stroke was met from him by a moan.

The tempo got faster, more aggressive from him, him slapping her naked ass as she took it all in, feeling his balls flap against her vagina, making her that much more wet. They were beginning to tighten to the feel of all this, and the motion kept her breathless.

His hands became rougher with her, grabbing her hips, then her ass, as she lay there in the same position he put her in, he grabbed her legs, and pulled her to him, as he drover harder into her.

Just as she thought she couldn’t take any more, his hands traveled back up to her ass, and he inserted his finger back into her vagina. Slow strokes with it, fast strokes with the other. She came. And came again, hearing him moan softly himself, “ah oui mon ange, il se sent bien ainsi, j'aime être à l'intérieur de vous en estimant que vous me voulez”(ah yes my angel, it feels so good, i love being inside you feeling you want me).

She felt him pound into her hard, once, twice, three times, grunting loudly now, and she felt the hotness of his seed into her, spewing, pumping into her and she loved it, loved every decadent moment of this wild passion. She was spent, as she knew he was. She felt him pull out of her, and kiss her there, kiss her ass, and kiss her legs. She crawled back on the bed, and rolled over on her side, breathing hard, tears running down her face, silently so as he wouldn't know.

She couldn't figure out what all this was, what just happened to her, how she let him do that without a thought and above all, she liked it. She liked the feeling of having him where no one else had been, of having him inside her in every way...

She wiped the tears from her eyes, and felt his hands around her, his strong arms holding her once again.

“mon amour, mon ange. ma petite fleur. vous êtes si spéciaux à moi....”(my love, my angel. my little flower. you are so special to me....).

She was weak and shaky, and really needed to go use the bathroom. She rolled over, to finally get to kiss his wonderful lips, the ones that had been all over her body...

She rolled over to hold him and have him hold her in the glow of the night....

Only to find, he was not there.

The Striptease

The Striptease

I see you, smiling shyly as you run your hand nervously down your black button up shirt…you lick your lips slightly, as you begin to unbutton your shirt. I sit and watch, as you pull out first the right side, then the left, slowly pulling it off you letting it fall to one side…your belt comes next, and I glance down, not wanting to take my eyes from yours, to see that you are growing as excited as I am with this…

My mouth goes dry, not wanting it to, because I want a chance to taste the sweetness of what is to come. You undo your belt, your pants fall, leaving you only in the black sheath that covers your excitement. 

You turn, first one way then the other, as you grow, as I become wetter, my breath more shallow, my hands now taking up the nervousness that you once felt but no longer do…

You pull off the sheath, to reveal your full glory…

I beckon you over to me, for you to stand in front of me, as I wet my lips, and take all of your hardness in my mouth…I can hear you moan quietly, your hands coming around to tangle in my hair, pushing my head up and down to the desired rhythm that you want. My hands come around your hips, moving upward to feel your hardened nipples. I can hear you take a sharp breath inward, feeling your balls tighten…

I pull up, looking up at you, with your eyes closed and your head slightly back…

I stand up, you look at me quizzically as I smile at you and lead you over to the rocking chair to sit down…

I kneel before you, on my knees, as I spread your legs, taking your  hard cock in my mouth once again, you begin to rock back and forth, sending your cock farther down   my throat. I go down, slowly on you, bringing my teeth just ever so slightly up, as I feel you spread your legs just a little wider, I lift up on my knees to go down even further on you.

The rocking starts slow at first, then as your breathing gets heavier, your moans louder, the rocking gets quicker….

Until….your legs tense, your hips arch ,your balls tighten, you grow just slightly larger than you already are, and explode in my mouth, cum gushing the back of my throat as I swallow quickly to keep up with the flow coming from you…

My breath is labored, not from sucking you, but from my own orgasm, the rocking of my body back and forth as I went down on you, the tingling tightness that I felt each time my body matched your stride…

The Pearl Necklace

The pearl necklace fell

From her ivory neck

They did scatter amoungst

The cracks and crevasses

Of the empty tomb

 Emotions that had long

Since been scattered

Scurrying along the stone

To the sound of rats and mice

She counted as they ran

From her fingertips

Not wanting capture

By her cold cold hands

Not wanting to entrapment

On a cold cold neck

The string had broken

Much as her spirit

The golden clasp has rusted

Much like her heartstrings

She sat down alone

As withered as the roses

In the vase dusty crystal vase

Remembering a time before

When youth was best wasted

In the undergrounds of Paris

Where beauty, her beauty

Reigned effulgent

When she never gave a thought

To anything other than dark desire

She feels my presence around her

She knows that I have come

I pick up the white orbs

That did escape from her

To place them all

Back in her rigored

Dead hand 

Art and the Artist

He watched her lying there sleeping, her arm over her hip, her leg splayed across the bed. There was no sheet, just her nude the overhead fan blowing her long brown hair slightly, partially hiding her right cheek. There was something about watching her just sleep. He loved looking at her body, inspecting every inch of it. He loved touching just one body part at a time, her arms especially.

It was the softness, kissing the inside where it bent sent chills down his spine. Some loved feet, others toes or the neck. There were all kinds of places one could find on the body to entice but to him, the arm and hands were a story within themselves. There was something noirish with them, almost suspenseful.  He could tell what kind of personality a woman was by the way she held her arms and hands. Insecure, she held them in front of her crossed. Dominant, she would have them on her hips proudly. A submissive woman would have her hands folded in front of her with her head down as well. A carefree woman would walk with her hands behind her back.

He watched when they were preoccupied, much like a voyeur, as they would reach for that one item on the top shelf. He enjoyed it when he was asked to participate in assisting when they couldn’t reach, as he would accidently brush up against their softness. Some men would take advantage of this and brush against their breast, but he just wanted to feel the gentleness of the arm or the smoothness of their hand, as he would reach them whatever it was they needed.

It wasn’t like he had been stalking her or anything. They had just been in the same place at the same time, and he noticed her. No, she hadn’t noticed him not in the least. In fact, she had spent hours in the museum without noticing him.

He had gotten there early in order to explore the photographic works of Oliver Valsecchi. His art form was fascinating in the way he used his human subjects. He most loved Les Couples. The way the camera captured the interaction was perfection.  He had not noticed her at first, as she was sitting quietly in the corner on a bench studying the La Seine at Vétheuil by Claude Monet. He observed how she would lean in from her perch and cock her head first one way then the other. She would write something down on her note pad, adjust her spectacles and get lost yet again within the work of Monet. He smiled to himself and as he were watching a silent movie she would squirm, shifting her weight, move her foot, stick out her tongue as she wrote. She then would readjust her glasses, push a stray strand of hair that had fallen loose from the brown bun that was pinned upon her head. She would frown, bite her lip, erase what she wrote, dust her note pad and start all over again. He watched her for more than a few minutes before moving on to the next exhibit in the other rooms.  

He had all but forgotten the girl until the Egyptian room when he had heard her small footsteps make their way near the statue of the great god Anubis. He tried not to be too obvious in his stares, but really couldn’t help noticing the form of her body, the way she held herself as she stood straight as an arrow. She was shorter than he thought at first, but he guessed that you really couldn’t tell when a person was sitting just how tall they were. Her blouse was yellow, button up and tied in a knot at the top of her faded jeans, the first two buttons were undone showing just a hint of cleavage. More of her long brown hair had come undone, cascading down her back from the pin that was holding the rest haphazardly in place for the time being.  She once again leaned in and investigated her subject with the utmost proficiency of a detective, and as she turned around, he finally got a glimpse of the most captivating blue eyes he had ever seen.

She smiled at him. At first, it was a half-smile of a preoccupied mind. Then as she began to realize he was not a part of the exhibit a genuine smile began to form on her pretty round face.

He could feel his face getting hot, for a few reasons, one being found out, and another being embarrassed at not knowing how to start a conversation in this manner. He was a shy type of man although one would not think this of him if they just judge him by his demeanor and stance. He held himself quite well, almost intimidating at times on the subway, as one would have to be if they lived in the city.

He was tall, dark skinned blue eyed and all the girls thought him to be nice looking. Rugged good looks were how his last girlfriend put it, but he never saw it. He did try to keep in shape and loved riding his bike through the busy streets and alleyways when there was time. He was not one to gloat on appearances; rather he enjoyed the inner sanctum of the mind when it came to a relationship. For that reason, Pam never worked out. She was ravishing with long silky blond mane, brown eyes and very long legs, but she really didn’t have much going for her in the intelligence department. Sure, she was a college graduate, but she hadn’t learned all the skills it took to be a conversationalist expounding on the virtues of the philosophers of the ages. Her main interest was high fashion and money, what was Haute Couture for the coming year and what would be rack approved for the local stores. His interest was more of the esoteric nature and those things undiscovered and yet unseen by the naked eye. He loved debating the theories of quantum physics as well as listening to others talk of their paranormal experiences.

He believed in other beings, never disputed the company of a higher existence and loved listening to the battle tales at the local veterans’ home he volunteered at. His ex on the other hand believed nothing that he spoke of believed only what was in front of her and detested the sight of anyone past the age of forty without a bank account big enough to choke Kim Kardashian.

Needless to say, the romance quickly faded when he denied her permission to be on his bank account and credit cards. He saw her once after that. She was with a rich British exec from London. He was doting on her, fawning over her beauty and grace and how well the diamonds set off her neckline.

“Hello.” He began. “I saw you back there at the Monet, did you like it?” he inquired.

She smiled even bigger, catching him off guard completely at this point, him not expecting that at all. She then held out her hand, and he suddenly took it in his own, bending down, he kissed it gently, his tongue slightly tasting the top of her middle knuckle. He could feel himself getting  aroused and tried not to think of it as he glanced at the surprised look on her face.

“Enchante’ mademoiselle” he said in his best French accent grinning  “Ummm My name isssss Claudee Monet? Meybee vouss like my work no?” he pretended to take his hat off and bow to her making her break out into laughter.

She curtsied to his bow finally speaking in such a lyrical voice, “Mr. Monet, It is such a pleasure to meet you sir! I adore your work!”

He could not help but smile, feeling quite a bit foolish with this charade and much like a schoolboy, but he couldn’t help but continue. “And which of my werks of art deed vous find that vous liked?”

She held her finger up to her right temple and playfully tapped, thinking. “Well, I did enjoy The Luncheon very well. But there was A Pathway in Monet's Garden at Giverny that I’m really fond of because of the use of the purple.” She smiled bashfully at him as he blushed once again, not understanding why his heart was racing so. After all, she was just a girl in an art museum.

He took her by the arm and hooked it in his. For all she knew he could have been a serial killer, but still she looked at him with those pools of azure that would melt Ted Bundys’ heart.

“Then what say…” he looked at her for a moment at a loss for not knowing her name as she picked up on his hesitation

“Alice. My name is Alice Wonder.” She smiled again.

“Then what say we shall sit down and have a spot of tea and expound on the virtues of my paintings and such? I will tell you about the grief I felt while painting The Boat Studio.”

“You felt grief while painting that?” she questioned.

He cocked his head. “Not so much grief as sea sickness can’t stand being on a rocking boat you know…”

“And what happened with your French accent there Mr. Monet?” she poked, smiling up at him.

He smiled and sighed theatrically, “Gone with the wind I suppose, just gone with the wind..”

They both laughed as he pulled out the café’ chair for her and motioned the server over to order the tea. 

Life As Such

It isn’t what we start out as that counts so much, just what we end up being. An apple starts out as a seed, and ends up a nice looking fruit for the bobbin’ tub. An acorn becomes a mighty oak.

Even though sometimes we are broken time and time again in the process of what is called life, it’s how we end up all in all as we grow. Will we end up being lunch for someone else, because we are here to nourish their spirit or soul? Will we be the strong one, in order to bear their heart aches and losses? Will we be the water that cleanses their sins away, or the sun that brightens their day? Will we be the sentry outside the city gate?  Will we just be the hand that reaches out to them, or the smile that at that one split second they needed to see? How about just that ‘hi’ that you were least expecting…when you felt so all alone?

And you know, there are times that we know what we are to some, and then other times not know at all. We may never know the people that we have touched through our journey, and some may end up within our circle for life. We are the big brothers, sisters, daughters, sons, mommas’ and daddys’, friends and lovers  for this world. We are who everybody else depends on to be there. I think I’ve been just about everything to everybody at one point in my life (with the exception of the brother/daddy thing of course). And I have enjoyed each role that I was blessed to be given. 

Growing up, I never thought that I would be anything to anyone other than just what I was. (Which was what I was told by my peers). I never knew that anything I did would ever matter, or affect anyone else but me. But like the proverbial ripple in the pond, what I said, how I acted, what I did, where I went affected someone at any given time in my life. Only later did I ever realise how I affected some, good or bad.

Life. It is a journey and not a destination, as my boys from Beantown will tell you. Once I realised that there was no jump off point, I finally started to live it…


Love what you have. Live what is given to you. Listen to others when they talk. Reach out when someone is reaching for you.. Give advise when asked. Smile when you don’t feel like it. Show some one love in a world full of hate…


When you walk along your path, look for the ones by the wayside. You may be the only person they meet that day….

I Am No More

What does it matter? 
To any one really….
My life is just that 
what is it worth?
I sometimes wonder
would I be missed?
For me.
Just for who I am…
Or would it be
for what I have done?
For what gets done
Often I wonder
Who I am really…
So many questions
I ask myself
Why I do the things
that I do….
Will the emptiness in me
Be filled with something else
Will I ever care again?
Because I don’t
Will I ever feel the emotion
of love again?
Because I believe there is none
I feel numb inside
nothing
empty
and I laugh just to hear what
happiness used to sound like…
I look at myself in the mirror…
And wonder where I went…
Who I thought I was
I am no more…
So it’s ssdd…same shit different day..on with the show, get the ball rolling and the servant shall serve….
A smile on her face, eyes vacant, throat dry…just going through the motions of life

Something

I stay in the bedroom a lot lately away from Alex and Rick. It's a matter of choice just so I don't have to deal with them. That and I hurt so much lately. 
More over? It's the point of trying to have a conversation with either one of them that doesn't end with getting my feelings hurt. 10 out of 10 I'm going to have something said to me that is going to hurt. Oh, they think their snarky remarks are so fucking funny. Or their smart assed comments are something to laugh about. Or that Hey. I just don't have a sense of humor. This morning I was asked how the meeting went with Tony about the grant proposals on the animal shelter. I was excited and started to explain it only to be interrupted with crude remarks of just killing all the animals so they wouldn't have to build one, knowing it would upset me. It went on for a few minutes and I just stopped. I went back upstairs. Neither one of them meant what they said, but it was their way of getting a rise out of me for whatever reason. It's like they take enjoyment in seeing me upset. It's like they love aggravating me over my mother being from Ohio (no offense to those who are, but I'm straight up South Tennessee/North Georgia Southern Belle) and I get called Buckeye constantly. Yeah it was all "hahahahah' the first 100000 times. Now it's to the point of slicing their throats when they start. Or the one feather joke. I could go on, there is no point because it just turns into whining on my part about nine sentences back, and ten sentences down below.
I asked repeatedly over the past 3 months for a tarp to be put over our dog lot (as the other one was torn off by a storm). The dogs have a dog house but I like them to have a tarp to get them out of the sun, and to keep the rain out of the lot etc. It's October. It's STILL NOT on there. I was told today "I won't have time I have too much to do." It's always "too much to do" for everyone but me. 
They actually went to do it believe it or not, but then couldn't find the jute rope to tie it down. But then again, they didn't bother to look for it either. 
There's more. And I'm tired So very tired. 
I was trying to have a conversation with Alex just a few minutes ago (hence this post) and was told "MOM I don't friggin care! I'm trying to watch this movie!" 
I should have known better.....
It's funny really. 
When I am on the phone with my friends? I get told that I'm on there too long. When I'm on the computer I get told that I "stay on there too long don't I have other things I need to be doing?" 
When I'm lying in bed hurting beyond what any human should I'm told shouldn't I get up already I've lain all day. 
Coupled with the fact that my Dad is dying of cancer. My daughter is back with her abusive boyfriend (I won't even get into that). I can't do for my friends that ask me to do for them. I can't do for the friends who need me to do for them. 

Can someone please tell me exactly....
What good I am? 
They aren't around me when they're home but very little. But it's that ''very little' that I swear is making me want to live less and less. 
I told Kathy today that I want to leave from here...leave and never return. 
And I meant those words. 
This darkness coupled with the pain and depression 
The personal and private hell. Not being able to finish my stories or have a muse that shows me love back. 
I'm just so tired....of everything and everyone.... 
I feel like that one song....
Just Give me...Something to Believe In.....
(Because right now...I have nothing..at all to believe in...)

The Unknown

I am losing myself to this darkness.

 I do not know which way to turn.

The light I no longer see. I only feel pain.

 Nothing like this before has overtaken me and this

 I do not understand. I am confused. 

I cannot help those who need me if I cannot help myself. 

When shall this darkness lift? 

When shall the light return? 

When will this pain go away?

I have never been this way in my life. 

I am at a loss for words. 

I sit all day staring out the window 

watching the leaves fall from the trees.

I watch as the others come and go, as the door slams shut 

and opens once again as they return. 

And yet, I sit. I wait. 

And I still do not understand these feelings that I have.

Cerriwin : October 30th, 2014

Shane

My Muse. Mr. Shane Nichols also known as Mr. Leiff MacPolk of the Clan MacPolk of Louisiana.  Star of the new story "The Return". 
And yes. I had the privilege of hearing those words come from his sweet lips in that deep Southern voice of his... 
In March I have the sweet honor of meeting this wonderfully handsome rogue of a devil, Goddess willing. We will peruse the Red White and Brew, walk amoung the tombstones of Hammond and New Orleans and discuss the treatises sword fighting. I could sit and listen to him talk for hours on end of his tales old and new....
I never tire of his voice or of his .... 

The Return Chapter 3: Thoughts of Yesteryear

The Return Chapter 3

Thoughts of Yesteryear

It was Spring, 1860. A year before succession but the talks were there. The rumours were flying and every political candidate and businessman had their own opinions about things. Shane had traveled North to Kentucky to purchase some horses for the farm his family had bought near Drakes Plantation. He was new to the area, and Drake Sturgill was kind enough to show his family around, lending them advice on what land was good for farming and what was more fertile for retail crops.

He rode over that sunny Saturday only to find a woman in riding trousers! She was dressed just like a man save for the red ribbon in her long hair.  Although he wasn’t as conservative as some of his family and friends he was taken aback on this attire and quite quickly found that his sound observation was not reciprocated.

She stood there next to her horse, a black stallion only heard of in myths and legends. Her hair had been pulled back from her face, tied with a long red silk ribbon. Her blouse was tight on her body accentuating her figure, as the first two top buttons were undone, showing her cleavage. She was bent down and then back up, down again adjusting the straps to the western style saddle that no respectable woman would be seen riding in these parts. Her pants were tight, showing off her slim legs and her very noticeable posterior. He sat there on his horse in stunned silence watching her expertise with this fine animal as a bulge grew in his own pants. He didn’t realize the sweat that was forming on his brow or how his mouth suddenly became dry. 

Reigne knew he was there. She never let on. She attended to Death, checking the shoes, straps and securing the saddle. She had no idea who the stranger was, and frankly didn’t care. He was no doubt there for another one of her Grandpa’s land deals. That would be the only reason a man would be here this early. It was a beautiful day and she had wanted to ride for a while. Grandma’s parties would start soon enough, and she knew then she wouldn’t have time to ride, wade in the river, plant trees in the orchard with Grandpa, or anything else. Shane cleared his throat. Loudly. No response. He got down from his horse. Still no response. He held the reigns in one hand while he walked toward her, Solomon in tow, wanting to graze as he stepped. Still no response. Was she deaf?  He began to wonder. He came up from behind her, tapped her on her shoulder and she spun around like a top.

“What the bloody hell are ye wantin’?” she spouted at him, as he almost thought she’d pull the crop out of its’ resting holster on her horse and whip him with it.

“I…well…” he cleared his throat this time for real. “I..uh..well..” he looked down at the ground. What is wrong with me, he thought. She’s a tadpole this one, why was he acting like a love struck cheil!

He stood up even straighter. “Aye, Sorry tae be a bortha but Ah was wonderin' wa ur ye dressed 'at way?” he timidly inquired.

She stared at him with those azure blue eyes with flecks of gold that floated like rays of stars in the darkened sky.

“What do you mean WHY am I dressed this way?” she took a step toward him, he a step back automatically just in case she started to throw a jab.

“I.. I.. Yer dressed lach a...lack ahn amadan."  .”

With that, she lost it. Completely. She wasn’t for sure what he was actually trying to say but she knew from her Grandpas words that the last one wasn’t a nice one. She picked up a rather large rock in the yard and tossed it at him hitting him square in his left knee. He fell, nursing his knee as she stood there shocked he thought maybe of her actions, or maybe of his falling. He immediately started to play it up worse than what it was. One thing was for sure, she didn’t throw like a girl, she hit him right on his kneecap. That was definitely going to leave a mark. He lay there moaning and groaning as she came ever closer to him.

“Mister, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to..it was an accident..” Not really, she thought, as she was actually aiming for his crotch but thought better and decided to take him down with a knee shot. Even without her slingshot, she was a good throw. He moaned again, wincing as he ‘tried’ to get up, only to fall back down on his back, holding his bruised knee. Solomon had ignored him, grazing in the front part of the yard near the other horse standing still, intent on the succulent new grass blades that tasted like Heaven. She knelt down beside him, at a loss for words. Great. This is just great. She’s now injured someone, her Grandpa was going to put her in her room and not let her ride and this man started it all!!

“Okay listen, I didn’t hit you that hard come on, get up. Stop acting like such a baby.” She went to help him up, reaching him her hand only to be pulled down next to him, as he laughed at her for the fall. She hit him this time right in the shoulder as she quickly retrieved her composure enough to scramble up and dust herself off as he lay there laughing. She was livid at this point. “What the hell is your issue man? And are you lost or what? Did you NEED something? Are you here to see someone about something? WHAT?!” she yelled.

He got up, brushed his backside off and rubbed his knee again.  He held his hands out in front of him in surrender to this hellion, trying yet again to get the words out, “Aye, I be looking for Drake Sturgill.”  Shane finally got out.

She was still staring him down. Not letting this go she inquired , “Then why didn’t you say so in the first place instead of name calling me!”

Shane took a step closer, thought better and backed up. “I apologize. It’s just that I have never seen a young woman in a pair of trews before. I dinnea mean to say you looked like an idiot.”

She again stared at him. Moreover, glared at him. Who the bloody hell did he think he was calling her an idiot for wearing pants?

“Just let me tell you something Mister! I am NOT an idiot! I wear pants all the time! That’s what we do here in the South! Especially if we ride! And I am NOT your ordinary Southern Belle who sits her ass on the veranda all day sippin’ tea and fanning herself waiting for someone to come and spark her!”

Incredulous. Her speech. That accent.  No decent woman in their right mind would ever talk to a man that way. Okay maybe decent wasn’t the right word. No well brought up young woman would dare speak to a gentleman that way. After all, weren’t the ladies in the South raised to be genteel?

“Uhm. What does that mean?” Maybe he could distract her.

“What does what mean?” Reigne still had fire in her eyes and Shane had no clue as to how to put it out.

“Spark? “

She let out a grin, not meaning to he was sure. “Well, it means you  know, come see a girl. Calling on her. Sitting with her and making conversation. “ This man surely isn’t from around here, she thought. His accent was like Grandpas so he must be from Scotland.  She decided to turn her temper down a notch and see how far this could go.

“I’m sorry Mister…” she started to say

He interrupted her, extending his gloved hand “Nichols. Shane.”

“I’m sorry Mister Shane.”

He began to laugh. “Let me start over. My name is Shane Nichols. And you can call me plain Shane.”

Her face started to feel hot. She was blushing. Her mouth was dry, and this was getting very out of hand.

She took a deep breath. “I apologize for my behavior Shane, my grandma and grandpa did not raise me to be that impolite, rude or immature. You took me by surprise, and not knowing you from Adam, I retaliated by reverting back to my uncouth ways.”

“Well then. Apology accepted. And do forgive me for calling you a name.”

She smiled. “Oh. I will forgive. But I will not forget. “

She turned, ran up the steps of the house to the open doors and yelled for Tommy John to go fetch her Grandpa.  She came bounding back down the steps and smiled at him, going over to pet his horse who was grazing on the grass near Death.

Shane walked over to pet him as well, and watched as she reached into her bag on her horse to bring out a carrot to feed the both of them.

“So you like to ride?” He said, trying not to act so nervous. She was just a bairn of all things. Not even fully grown. Why did she affect him in this way?

“I do. My grandparents taught me, especially my Grandpa. “

“Your parents. Are they not living?”

She paused before answering. Yes, they were living, but their plans in this lifetime did not include toting around a small child everywhere they were going.  She knew from the time she was born, that she was the product of an arranged marriage between two warring clans in the homeland. Her mother and father marrying brought peace. It also brought her into this world. They did not love each other and thus went their own ways still married but living separate lives. She was loved by her mother’s parents. When they decided to move back to the Georgia Territory from the Highlands, they knew she was to go with them.

“They…they have their own lives to lead.” She said quietly. She had noticed that his Scottish brogue had lightened up somewhat and he was sounding as if he belonged around here than in the Highlands.

“Where are you from? Around here or somewhere else? I’ve not seen you around these parts.” She could have hit herself at that. Too many questions in one sentence Reigne. Blast it all, slow down!

“I lived in Dungannon for a very long time before moving to the States. My family moved here  recently. We lived in New Orleans for a while. You could say…my family travels a bit.” 

She smiled brightly. “Well I’m sure glad you’re here now!” She clamped her hand over her mouth, turned and ran up the stairs and disappeared into the large house.

Shane shook his head. Funny funny girl, he thought. Strange and funny.

Drake Sturgill, almost being ran over by his rambunctious granddaughter walked out toward the tall young man smiling.

“I see you’ve met our Reigne.” He shook hands with him, showing him up to the veranda where Tommy John had placed a large tray with tea and glasses.

“Yes. And I hope…to see more of her as well.” Shane said, the last part disappearing under his breath.

The older man poured the refreshing elixir, looking around to see if anyone was watching, pulled out a flask and added a touch of whisky to both glasses. Shane smiled. This man was whom he wished he could have met long ago. He was someone Shane saw as a father figure. Kind loving and compassionate to his employees, a gentle soul to his family and a wonderful mentor to those who wanted to learn.

“Has your family settled in now?” Drake inquired of him.

“Aye. I think my mother loves it here. Better than in New Orleans. Too much to be going on there and too many questions that got asked after a while.”  Shane drank deep of the tea, enjoying the edge that the Scottish whisky had given it.

Drake understood. It was always better of ‘their kind’ to live a life of solitude, away from the crowds of the city. Too many questions are asked when year after year you appeared the same. Around these parts though, no one took notice. Everyone seemed to take care of each other. The small hamlet of Ross Point was family. If you were not kin by blood, you became kin by heart. The citizens took care to protect those who found their way here. This had been home now for years. He had lived here in this area before any other white man had heard of Chief John Ross or knew of the Cherokee tribe who made their home here. He was there for the marriage of Daniel Ross’s marriage to Mollie McDonald. He was there sadly for the removal of all that was sacred to them. Yes, a long life he had forged out in this wilderness but he loved each moment of it, as it reminded him so much of his home. He was blessed and he wanted this young man to be blessed as well.

__________________________________________________________________

Years later, Reigne would bring their first meeting up. It was just a fuss, but it was brought up and she had learned a few Scottish names to call him as well. Yes. It may have taken her a couple of decades after their initial meeting, but it always came back to haunt him one way or another.

He smiled at the reminiscing. He missed being here. He missed her. It had been a while, and he knew that he needed to tell her why. The storm was still raging. Lightening flashed, thunder rolled. A tree limb crashed down from the tall oaks that stood near the house for shade during the summer. Reigne jumped and let out a small scream. He slid from the couch, going over to her, bending on his knees to hold her in his arms once again.

Her hair was the fragrance of fresh lemon and jasmine. Her skin as soft as a calm black velvet night. She didn’t resist this time. Her arms flung around him holding him tight to her as her tears began to fall.

His throat was tight, constricting and beginning to hurt. He held back his emotions as he did so many times before, but he finally found his voice.

Soothing it was to her ears his words that slowly came from his soul. “ Reigne. I would never die for anyone, but I would take a thousand lives just to be by your side one more night…”

“Do you understand what I have just said?” His words were imploring, begging to be comprehended.

Through her tears, through the hurt that she had endured while he was away, she understood. She could only nod in recognition to his plea. “Then we shall begin again?” He whispered in her ear as his kisses fell upon her tear stained cheeks. He found her lips, licking them before kissing her .